


The Air and the Morning

by terra_fye



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angel/Demon Sex, Cat Ears, Catboys & Catgirls, Dark Fantasy, Dream Sex, Erotica, F/F, F/M, Memories, Multi, Occult, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rituals, Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terra_fye/pseuds/terra_fye
Summary: A small town, a timeworn cathedral, an ancient order, and Clea, who desperately needed a break in her daily routine.Alternatively, satanic catgirls and sexual tension.
Kudos: 2





	1. Initiation Rites

They say "curiosity kills the cat," but if that were true, Clea figured everyone in the room would be dead by now. Then again, coming here was against every one of her better judgments. This was the kind of place that held its own atmosphere; a building practically shielded by its own aura. Not the kind of place you go alone. Definitely not the kind of place you stay. And yet, here she was, subconsciously noting the doors and windows around her in case she needed to make a run for it.

The funny thing about places of worship is that they never seem to stay empty. They overflow, they crumble, they burn to the ground, but rarely do they sit unoccupied for decades. St. Selene's was the exception to the rule. Towering above its contemporaries in a town built by society's "undesirables," it felt like a relic of another age. Much of its stained glass still caught the same light it did centuries ago, long before the so-called cultural revolution, but there weren't enough hand-crafted windows in the world to keep traffic flowing through its heavy, oaken doors.

Clea grew up here. No, not within the granite walls of St. Selene's, but under its watchful eye in the town it called home. It felt like a family heirloom to most of the residents, its presence almost otherworldly on the backdrop of modernity. And yet it stayed. Unmoving, untouched. Questions asked and perpetually unanswered. Its status in the town was one of legend, tall tales and forgotten rumors traded amongst family and friends, but they all agreed on one thing -- stay away.

She shivered under red velvet, the heavy robes weighing down on her lithe frame. She was the only visible face in a group of nine, each figure in their perfect circle shrouded in shadow. They wore black in contrast to her red, kneeling in cold silence as she stood, awaiting instruction. Minutes passed without even the slightest motion, each statuesque form seeming to glare deep into the geometric gold impression they surrounded. She did find the shape to be mesmerizing; the gold of its geometry shone bright and clean, glinting reflective flame in its corners any time a candle's ember flicked into range. She became so taken, actually, that she didn't notice as another form entered the room.

A door closed with a distant thud as the form approached, their robes a thick gold that matched the shape in the floor. The eight others sat back on their heels in unison and sent an affirming nod to the gold-cloaked individual. The gold-cloak returned their nod and they all redirected their glances toward Clea, their features remaining indistinct.

"Welcome, Daughters of the Morning. I meet you with great joy on this day as new blood reaches our kindle." 

As the golden figure spoke, Clea was shocked by the lightness of her voice. While her presence was imposing, she also seemed to exude a certain comfort and kindness that altered the air of the room. Clea listened with quiet anticipation as the speaker followed her statement by raising her right arm, exposing two pale fingers and sweeping the room with her gaze.

"It is my most fervent hope that she shall follow our path as closely as the eight of you, for to follow..."

Eight voices raised in answer. "Is to lead."

Clea began to recognize the reality of her surroundings as the voices echoed into the cathedral ceiling, surely hundreds of feet over her head. Despite dozens of candles lighting the massive room, their glow was eaten in such a way by the darkness above that she could be convinced it extended for miles. It made her feel small, and yet she continued to enjoy a sense of ease.

"My dear, what can we call you?"

Clea blinked, breaking her almost trance like state and standing to attention. 

"Clea." She paused before inhaling in brief embarrassment. "Clea, miss."

The golden speaker chuckled, breaking any remaining stiffness in the room, and removed her hood. Wavy, blonde locks fell to her waist, brighter and cleaner than the gold they rested on. Her skin was smooth as fine porcelain, catching unsteady candlelight from her cheekbones to her slender neck, the rest of her still hidden away behind opulent velour.

"Let the ritual fool you not, Clea," said the speaker, now smirking. "We aim to dispense of such formalities here."

Hearing her own name felt jarring. Clea's presence in this place, amongst these people, had up until this point felt like an elaborate game, a scene in a pulpy film from decades past. She held back a smile and nodded with reserved sincerity. She knew the implications of where she stood, the robe dragging on her sharp shoulders, the faceless watchers in every direction.

"And who brings Clea to grace our hallowed halls?"

A watcher to Clea's right stood slowly, raising two fingers. "Clea follows me, Highest Daughter."

It took no time for Clea to recognize this voice. She knew very well who brought her here.

"Your name and visage, dearest." The Highest Daughter returned the two finger gesture.

Fingernails painted in shades of lavender pulled back the hood to reveal a familiar face, handsome in an explicitly feminine way. The girl's black pixie cut stood on end from the friction of the hood's movement, but still seemed just as crisp and clean as the Highest Daughter's platinum tresses. She shook her head and began to quickly fix her hair before drawing in a deep breath.

"Alice, Highest Daughter." She turned her head to Clea with a smile that seemed far too casual for the setting.

"Clea follows daughter Alice. And to follow..." The Highest Daughter again offered the two finger gesture.

"Is to lead." Eight voices rung out once more.

Clea met Alice three years ago while rummaging around the lowest shelves of a local book store. Noting each other's similar age in a town that had a penchant for chasing off everyone under the age of 35 was their most immediate connection, but Alice's open and immediate mockery of the paperback occult romance in Clea's hand was what sealed their fate. They hit it off almost immediately, Clea being a lifelong resident and Alice being a new transplant, both friendless and loveless in a bland locale.

"She understands our tenets well, Highest Daughter," said Alice, sending another affirming look in Clea's direction.

The Highest Daughter raised a brow. "Do you mean to say you have shared our tenets with the uninitiated?"

Alice lightly smacked the side of her face; she never shied from expression and Clea recognized this gesture as one that said 'do you think I'm stupid?'

"What I mean to say, Highest Daughter, is that Clea and I have been close for a few years now. She's 'our people,' you know?" Alice made a wide, sweeping motion with her arms and let out a chant in whispered yells. "One of us! One of us!"

Clea giggled. Alice was being honest; she never spoke openly about what happened behind the doors of St. Selene's. As a matter of fact, she never mentioned being inside St. Selene's whatsoever. One of the benefits of Alice's tendency to leave no emotion hidden was the unshakable honesty it came with; it's what cemented their relationship on day one and what allowed Clea to go against all instinct in coming here today.

The Highest Daughter's comfortable smirk returned. Every smile she released made good on the promise of dispensing formalities.

"I have not shared our tenets with Clea. I have not shared what we believe, what we do, who we are. I simply know that she shares a lot of our...ideals. A lot of the things that brought the rest of us here. And she's my friend. I want to share this with her, as I believe she has a lot to share with us. To follow..."

"Is to lead!" Clea returned the statement herself this time, hiding a grin and making sure not to draw too much attention to herself.

"Then we shall waste no more time. We have kept our guest waiting for far too long and if she will it, we shall see to making her more than a mere guest." The Highest Daughter spoke with authority, her voice taking on a distinct power that reverberated in the halls and bounced into the aether looming above them.

Alice shot Clea one last glance before replacing her hood and returning to her knees, facing the center of the circle with the rest of the watchers -- or daughters, as they had been called.

"Clea, your presence here today exemplifies a desire to become more than you are. A need for true freedom and understanding. A willingness to share your everything, your very self, with our family and the cause that unites us." The Highest Daughter stepped forward, a golden plate in her hands. "And as you share yourself with us, it will be our honor and duty to share ourselves with you."

Clea began to tremble. The uncertainty that colored her vision returned like the stained glass that shone so bright by daylight. She reappraised the visible corners of the room, but no longer felt beckoned by the available exits. She trembled not from fear, but from yearning, from resonance of the Highest Daughter's words within her.

"If I speak to your wishes, I ask that you leave your robe at your feet and step forward to meet me." The Highest Daughter stood in a circle at the center of the sigil on the floor.

Anticipation washed over Clea like cool water as she allowed the robe to fall from her shoulders. Her skin chilled in the open air, though she felt no shame in her naked form as she stepped to the center circle. The circle sunk down ever so slightly, depressed into the floor and revealing a deeper layer of metallic gold around her feet. As the Highest Daughter set the golden plate on a small platform in the middle of the circle, Clea could not pull her eyes from the Highest Daughter's. She was spellbound by the magnificence of the woman before her, unable to free herself from the solace of her gaze.

The Highest Daughter lifted a ringlet of barbed stems, barely flowered, from the platter. She held it high, maintaining eye contact with the trembling girl before her, and called out. "Daughters, it is your generous offering that frees Clea from bondage. Your willingness to alter yourselves to alter another gives me pride to place this crown and extend our family. To follow is to lead, and so I ask you to follow me in this moment." 

Clea winced as the Highest Daughter placed the crown on her head, its sharpest points pushing through her long, auburn hair and piercing her skin. Despite her shock, she could not draw her eyes away from the Highest Daughter. As she noticed the tiny embers in their corners, she admired how round and blue the woman's eyes actually were. Striking, commanding, yet soft, brimming with empathy. Clea's senses became heightened. She could see a lifetime of passion in the Highest Daughter's stare. She could hear even the smallest sounds ringing out around her, like metal gently scraping across sharp granite. She could smell it. Metal. Copper. Blood.

As deep red spatter matted the hair of the Highest Daughter, Clea felt warmth pooling at her ankles. The sensation finally broke her stare, the smell becoming stronger, sharper, dizzying. Her knees began to chatter as she surveyed the room around her. Eight daughters, collapsed, their arms lending trails of crimson to the circle she was standing in. The room began to spin as the ringing in her ears became almost deafening. She looked up at the Highest Daughter, her expression still soft, caring. Apologetic, perhaps. 

Clea felt pain. Deep, paralyzing, pain. She traced a path with her eyes from the Highest Daughter's tainted face to her exposed shoulder, her shoulder to her wrist. A wound; the flesh rippling away to reveal shredded muscle and vein. She gasped at the sight, blood still trickling out and splashing into the viscous liquid beneath them, sending droplets up and onto her outer thigh. Clea's agony amplified as she attempted to breathe in. That's when she felt it.

She continued following the path from the Highest Daughter's wound to her palm, her palm to her fingers, her fingers wrapped tightly around the leather of the hilt of the knife plunged fully into her chest. Clea grasped at the hilt as the other woman's hands fell away. She attempted to speak, but could not find the words to say or the air with which to say them. The world turned on its axis and went dark.

Clea awoke to the warmth of light split through colored glass. The room was meticulously tidy with minimal furniture and no curtains to block out the sun. Walls of polished granite built up no less than twelve feet before rounding into a domed ceiling, a singular lamp hanging from the pinnacle. The floor was soft, softer than any bed, her lower body sinking comfortably into its cushioning. Her head was angled up, another tender surface supporting her upper body. A hand moved across her forehead and trailed down the side of her face, resting under her chin and soothing her with gentle strokes upon the side of her neck. With a few fluttering blinks, she looked up to be met with welcoming blue eyes and silken strands of platinum blonde.

"You've done remarkably well, dearest." The Highest Daughter's words and smile emanated sincerity.

Clea's memories rushed back to her like a bitter tide. The candlelight. The acrid smell of copper. The knife resting unwelcome in her chest. She scrambled to her feet, moving hands up and down her torso, searching desperately for some type of physical reminder of her experience. She was entirely unaware of how long she had slept, but she was sure it was not long enough to heal a stab wound and leave no scar.

"I'm sorry, C. I wish it didn't have to happen that way, but we all go through it." Alice's voice came from the doorway. She looked at her feet, remorse written in the uncharacteristic stiffness of her every motion.

Clea's body collided with Alice, wrapping her arms tightly around the neck of the taller girl. 

"I thought you were gone!" She cried out, her tone somewhere between elation and anguish. "I thought I lost you. I thought I lost me? I don't know what the fuck to think right now."

Alice pulled her head back a bit, her cheeks a pale blush. "I'm just...I'm just glad you're alright. I mean, I knew you would be alright. Maybe I'm just a little bit glad you're not mad at me?"

"Ok, now, that's an entirely different discussion. I never said I wasn't mad, but I'll admit...I'm just really fucking happy you're here." Clea nuzzled her friend's chest and pulled her embrace closer. The denim of Alice's grey jeans felt coarse against the flesh of Clea's bare legs and shocked her into the realization of two very clear points -- her senses were on fire, even more so than during the ritual, and she was still very much naked.

Clea stumbled toward a nearby bed and grabbed a pillow, sitting down and hugging it to her body in a poor attempt to cover up. Her face was cherry red, a combination of overwhelmed senses and standard, human embarrassment. Almost human, at least. Clea felt something soft and fuzzy brush against the side of her leg, startling her to her feet. She spun around, looking for someone, something, a small animal, anything, to no avail. After tearing up the sheets from the bed in a dual effort to track down whatever spooked her and cover herself more efficiently, she caught a glance of herself in the mirror.

"Felidae." The Highest Daughter's voiced carried from the other side of the room, echoing in the domed chamber much like it had in the ritual hall.

Clea stared, gawking at the image in the mirror.

"It's what they've called us for centuries. We may be a dying breed, but we are here nonetheless." The Highest Daughter approached Clea from behind, grabbing the edges of the bed sheet and fastening it above her chest. "And as you are now one of us, you too can see us as we are."

Clea turned from the mirror and looked past the Highest Daughter to Alice, fixated on the top of her friend's head. How had she missed it moments ago? The two of them were inches apart and her initial shock and relief must have blocked it out entirely, but clear as day, there they were. Ears. Like a cat's. On top of Alice's head. On top of the Highest Daughter's head. She reached up. On top of her own.

"I'd say 'don't be alarmed,' but your reaction is no different from everyone else's." The blonde woman sat on the unmade bed and spoke calmly. "We are an ancient kind, now continued almost exclusively by the Daughters of the Morning. In return for serving a higher purpose, we live our lives freely and comfortably. We do as we please. We love one another. And we act with intent for the betterment of those who are deserving."

Alice spoke up, following the other woman's statement. "There are a lot of major benefits to this whole deal, too. Your senses are elevated well beyond that of your everyday human. Your reflexes are top notch. You can reveal your visible traits at will, though trying to show off to humans or anyone else outside of the Order will net severe consequences."

Clea was listening, but still staring at herself in the mirror, now running her hands across her entire body to see what other surprises she might find.

"And yes, you have a tail." Alice chuckled.


	2. Self-Preservation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clea explores her feelings...and herself in the early morning hours.

The halls of St. Selene's were strong. Stoic. Static, but not lifeless. Remnants of the outside world crept in through the few spaces that had weathered with the years, but the structure stood unshakable, no one's victim in its emptiness. Many forms traveled its corridors over the years; forms of the devout, spectral forms, debris and matter blown about by the kindest breeze, but no form found its distance like that of sound.

Clea's eyes opened abruptly, but she did not sit up. She awoke with that same sort of startled shake that everyone gets when they know it's 'just too early.' She had only spent a few days in St. Selene's, trapped under the weight of their promises that she would 'certainly be able to go home, but things needed to be done.' Not that any of these things had been divulged to her; oh no, not a whisper of understanding was offered in her direction despite the chorus of whispers around her at all times. It was not whispers, however, that awoke her at this ungodly hour. 

It was almost out of earshot, but enhanced senses gave clarity to the voices in the air. If not for the rhythm, she might suspect it were a matter of grief as cries of supposed agony made their way into her space, just audible enough to wake her. The ghost of some anguished lover? No, but these sounds held the cadence of love all the same. Breaths escalated to cries that set Clea's mind to racing. Who? Where? Why on earth did they decide to get to it now? And with these questions came images; the kind that felt intrusive, both to Clea and the subjects of her imagination. She visualized the Highest Daughter, her hair light and wavy, tips just barely covering her ample breasts. She thought of some of the new faces she had seen in passing, recklessly disrobing them in her mind before shaking the visions away. Alice. She had officially reached the point of no return. She thought of Alice, taking a tour of every dream that had ever left her awake and yearning like this back in the comfort of her own home. 

She thought back to the lakefront a year ago, an absolutely sweltering day. The heat was inescapable, every breeze like an escape. This was the day she wanted her most. Clea had always found Alice attractive, but it began as standard issue human appreciation, nothing that really made her think twice. This day changed that. Standing tall in front of the lake, sunlight flaring up behind her, over-emoting her way through some clearly exaggerated story from her childhood as Clea just sat and laughed, absolutely transfixed on her friend. Her best friend.

She remembered her legs, bare and decidedly pale for the summer-time, leading up to black shorts and a loose, gray tank. The heat was enough for Alice to leave her bra at home that day, though it took very little to convince her to do that, so Clea let her mind focus on the way the fabric traced the lines and curves of her chest. Alice's breasts were small, but shapely, and looked right at home on her tall, lithe frame. The detail in which Clea remembered the outline of Alice's nipples in the fabric of her shirt made her feel like a teenager, set off by the tiniest things, but as her mind came back down to the darkness of her room at St. Selene's she felt very little concern for the propriety of her thoughts.

Clea wore a thin shift, borrowed from the Highest Daughter, and nothing else. She still found it jarring as her tail brushed across the side of her leg, but it reminded her just how sensitive she was now and before she could second guess herself, she moved her hand towards the developing wetness between her thighs. Her finger's first contact left her reeling, sucking in a deep breath at the shock of her senses. She exhaled, letting her legs fall comfortably to the side, acutely aware of the fact that she was dripping, fluid trickling gently across her skin and dampening the sheet beneath her. As the unknown voice's pleasure cries rang out again, now even louder, Clea lightly dragged her middle two fingers across her wetness. She gently teased herself, acclimating to the newfound delicacy of her nerves, before slipping her middle finger inside.

She was beyond slick, almost frictionless, as she let a second finger join the first. Her fingers guided themselves in and out to the beat of her breaths, her own hushed mewls now taking up more space in her skull than the sound of the faceless lovers. The bed creaked under her writhing, the flame in her belly getting hotter with each motion as she treated herself with a certain fragility that contradicted the fury of her desire.

As she became bolder, she pulled her fingers upward, gently massaging her clitoris. She felt firm under her fingertips as they slipped across the surface and she cried out, twisting her head to the side to let the pillow catch her moans. Her mind ran free as she envisioned Alice's green eyes meeting hers before descending, dropping butterfly kisses along her torso. Her imagination taught her about the length and heat of her best friend's tongue, eager to lap up every ounce of her honey sweet slickness.

Clea's fingers moved less gracefully as she let her fantasies consume her. Her hand fumbled as she slid her fingers back inside, her skin soft and tender and swelling to her touch. The newness of her senses informed her of the primal ecstasies she could enact upon herself with nothing more than her hand a few lusty mental images. The blanket slumped off the side of the bed as the blackness of the room embraced her, the white shift now pulled up above her torso as her left hand cupped a breast, rolling her nipple between her fingertips. 

She curled her legs back, knees raised toward her face as she rubbed her thumb across her clit, her knuckles becoming sticky with her own sweat and secretions. The images she concocted of her closest friend would have embarrassed her under less heated circumstances, but she was soaking them up as they drove her to climax. Her breast pulsed under her grip and the lace shift tickled her as it drifted back and forth with her erratic motions. Her feet pressed into the mattress as she raised her hips, forcing her fingers deeper, pressure mounting on her most sensitive points. Her breaths gained tone as she tried to suck them back in, thighs trembling as spasms ran up her back, her spine and belly vibrating as her shoulders contorted inward.

Her orgasm swelled and broke like the new moon tide. The sheer ferocity of her tactile senses caused her whole body to thrust inward, her eyes rolling back as she reached out to grab the sheets at her sides. Her back bent up, abdominal muscles tensed, aware and uncaring that her voice could wake even visitors long since passed. More. More. Gasping and gagging for more. She clenched the linens, pulling them inward as her voice let out a wail followed by three short whimpers, clarity washing over her as she settled down.

Clea struggled to catch her breaths, her hair matted in sweat behind her. She could feel the fold of her new ears as she repositioned her head on the pillow -- the new additions to her body were like to be sensations much more troublesome to accustom to. Her inner thighs felt humid under the shift as she pulled it down, her nipples punching back against the texture of the fabric. As the images of Alice washed out of her head, she felt a tinge of guilt; a tinge that was promptly interrupted by a profound longing. It was a sad feeling, but not despairing, at least that's what she told herself. 

The morning would come to deliver her back to reality, whatever version of reality she had found herself in, but not without at least a few more moments of unfiltered rest. The covers still lay slouched on the floor, though she wasted no energy to reach for them, as she was blanketed in self-made bliss and would fight to carry that feeling into unconsciousness. Daylight felt miles away. Having exhausted herself, Clea's brown eyes wavered under their own weight and she drifted to dense, dreamless sleep. 

As the sun broke through the cloudy window, Clea's consciousness lagged behind only to be caught up by a jarring thud. The wooden door shook on its hinges against a barrage of knocks.

"Morning! Morning! Are we dead in there?"


End file.
